by KJ Charles
Alec almost laughed. “I can’t say you do, no.”
“I will take my pleasure as it suits me, when it suits me. If it suits me, and not until.” He puffed a breath into the nape of Alec’s neck, making him shiver. “Now. You and I will attend this milling crowd of fools, and if your thoughts are three-quarters on what we’ll be doing afterwards, that is no bad thing. You won’t be afraid, because I am in control, and you won’t fear your own performance because I am in control of that too. Understand?”
Alec grimaced, unseen. “If you say so.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yes. Yes, all right.”
Jerry’s hand tightened. “I’m in control, of everything. Understand?”
“You’re in control,” Alec repeated, and this time he felt a tiny loosening in his tight nerves. Of course Jerry knew what he was about. Of course he had a plan. He let himself relax into the feeling. “Carry on.”
“That is my very good partner in crime.” Jerry moved away as he spoke. “Take a moment, because the line of your suit is not helped by the stand you’re sporting. And then we will go, and we will enjoy this. Trust me.”
Alec stared forward. There were a number of things he wanted to ask: Why don’t you ever look in my face when we do this? Do you want me, really, or is this all to keep me up to the mark? What exactly are we doing?
Did it matter? This wasn’t the sort of affair that gave a chap a false sense of hope, the kind that even briefly made one think that there might be some kind of companionship and affection. Alec knew and hated that hopeful feeling because it so inevitably led to painful disappointment. No matter how hard he tried to expect nothing at all, he always found himself yearning for more, imagining that this time might be different, and simultaneously waiting on horrible tenterhooks for the withdrawal, boredom, excuses that he knew would come.
He couldn’t fool himself now. One would be a madman to hope for anything from Jerry Crozier. One couldn’t feel deceived when one knew from the start that the chap was up to his ‘long game’; one couldn’t be disappointed in an affair if one truly had no expectations of one’s partner. There was nothing here but the fucking. And if Jerry really wanted what Alec had to offer in that regard, if he wanted to take the reins that Alec wanted to surrender—well, it wouldn’t be safe, or sane, but it would meet a need he’d never been able to fulfil with more normal, less criminal men.
He was riding a tiger. He might as well enjoy it.
“You look lost in thought,” Jerry said. “Pleasant thought, too. Hold on to that, and let’s go.”
LADY SEFTON’S TOWN house in Belgravia was bright with electric light, spilling out into the evening. Alec and Jerry abandoned the cab two streets away and walked there, resplendent in black. They’d travelled in silence from Eastcheap. Alec didn’t have anything to say except “Are you sure this will work and we won’t be thrown into the street?”, and he already knew the answer he’d get. Whether he believed it was up to him.
There was a thin stream of men in black and women in bright colours making their way up the impressive outer stairs. Jerry joined them with a casual, confident stride that Alec concentrated on matching. Up the stairs, and to the open door where a butler stood, flanked by a dozen footmen to take overcoats—Jerry had told him not to wear one, or a hat—and a man in evening dress waited by a lectern. It was a visitor’s book, Alec realised, which was to say a courteous way of ensuring Lady Sefton knew who was coming in.
Jerry gave a nod. “Mr. Gerald Vane and Lord Alexander Pyne-ffoulkes. Thank you.” He didn’t pause, simply strolling in. Alec hurried after him, unable to believe the man at the lectern wouldn’t hold up a hand or call them back.
He didn’t. Alec caught Jerry up and they followed the sound of a string quartet drifting along the ground floor. A wind instrument playing something else was audible upstairs. He should have known this would be a musical evening: the Seftons were famous for their patronage of the arts. Alec was preparing, with no great enthusiasm, to make intelligent remarks about music when a hand landed on his arm.
The thought Police! erupted in his head with stunning force. He whipped round in a panic and saw a familiar, grinning, puzzled face.
“I say, Pyne-ffoulkes, isn’t it? Did I startle you? Romley, you recall, from school. It is you, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed,” Alec responded, trying to force his heart back down his throat. Jerry had vanished from the corner of his vision. “I do beg your pardon, I was in a brown study.”
“I’m not surprised,” Romley said. “Do you know, there’s no card room, and all this tootling is enough to drive a man to drink. And there’s an opera singer later.”
“Oh, there’s not.”
“At least the champagne’s cold. Come and take a glass, I haven’t seen you in an age. What have you been up to?”
Jerry had made him practise how he would deal with this. Deflection first. “Yes, it’s been an awfully long time. But what brings you here, if it isn’t your love of music?”
Romley snorted. “My fiancée, what else?”
“Oh, congratulations,” Alec said. “Who’s the lady, and does she realise the challenge that faces her?”
He didn’t actually remember a thing of Romley beyond his face and a vague impression he’d been good at rugger, but that kind of remark was obligatory, and got the obligatory laugh. Romley swept two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and proceeded to drink his own and two more while Alec sipped at his. He asked Alec twice what he’d been up to and why he hadn’t seen him around; Alec headed that off with mentions of his bereavement, which would naturally exclude him from parties for six months, and then a vague reference to keeping his nose to the grindstone.
“But ain’t your father a duke?” Romley demanded. He wasn’t slurring, but his face was going distinctly pink. “My old fellow’s a banker himself, insists a man should make his own living. Sitting on his moneybags and doling out a measly allowance.”
“It’s the new way,” Alec said. “Modern times. Work’s the thing for improving moral character and all that. I dare say there’s something in it.”
Romley snorted. “Nonsense. Let the fellows who want to get ahead work, and then hand on their earnings to the fellows who don’t, that’s what I say.”
Alec made a noncommittal noise that Romley could interpret as polite agreement and led the conversation off down a path of school reminiscence, a feat that proved surprisingly easy. He was, he realised, enjoying this rather more than he’d thought possible. He dreaded the few social events George or Annabel pressed him to attend, but when one treated the intrusive questions as a game, seeing how easily they could be turned away, their sting seemed less and their meaning more distant.
Romley introduced him to a couple more gentlemen. Alec found his role settling on his shoulders easily. He resisted any temptation to voice opinions that could be construed as critical of his father, smiled pleasantly, asked men about themselves and told them they were interesting (“never fails”, Jerry had said with an eye roll). He wasn’t sure if this was what Jerry had wanted, but he’d been told to make himself pleasant and in the absence of other instruction, he did it.
Perhaps ninety minutes into the evening, he heard the raised voices.
They weren’t that raised. He was in the hall and the speakers were in the main drawing-room. The hubbub of conversation through the house was quite drowning out the musicians’ efforts. But he still picked out the raised voices because he’d heard them so often before.
He excused himself from his little group, and headed towards the sound of the Duke and Duchess of Ilvar at war.
The drawing room was brightly lit and busy but less noisy, which was hardly surprising because naturally people were listening in. Alec made his way through the crowd of guests trying to pretend they weren’t watching, and couldn’t help but cringe as he saw what was going on. Lady Sefton, his unknowing hostess, resplendent in blue with a sapphire necklace, was facing the Duchess of Ilvar,
and one didn’t have to be an aficionado of female fashions to know that Her Grace was overdressed. She wore a magnificent red silk gown that would have suited a ballroom if not a Court presentation, and a three-string necklace of glittering diamonds and rubies. Her red gloves were elbow length and adorned with rings, but no bracelet, and she had a hand raised in a demonstrative fashion, one pointing finger a little too close to Lady Sefton’s face for courtesy. Alec couldn’t hear what she was saying but the hectoring note was all too clear. Beside her Ilvar stood, bottom lip pushed out in the way he had when he was angry. It made him look like a petulant, bearded child.
They were older. Of course they were; it was eight years since he’d last seen them. The Duchess was now in her mid-forties, and statuesque in a way that suggested a dowager in the making. She would probably be a magnificent and intimidating older woman. The Duke, meanwhile, had become an old man rather than a middle-aged one to Alec’s eye: grey-bearded, bald-headed. He stood with her, both of them bristling with affronted pride. It was a very familiar pose.
Lady Sefton looked equally affronted. She was speaking at the same time as the Duchess—never a good sign—in a low, rapid voice. Alec hesitated, not sure what he was meant to do, and felt a tap on his shoulder.
“I say.” It was Jerry, looking as though he’d been hurrying. “Isn’t that your stepmother with our hostess?”
“It is. I don’t know what’s up.”
“I rather think I do. I’m going to have to interrupt the ladies. Could you introduce me, old man, so I don’t seem quite so much of a bounder?”
“What, now?” Alec asked, putting very real alarm into his voice at the prospect of getting involved in what looked like an almighty scene. It seemed the kind of thing one would say if innocent, and he was sure he detected a tiny glint in Jerry’s eye.
“Precisely now. Or I can brave the lionesses’ den alone, but I do really need a hearing, and at once.”
“I’ll take your word,” Alec said, sounding as dubious as he felt, and heard a couple of faint chuckles from around them.
They walked forward. The Duchess was saying, “I insist that you take action at once as to this disgraceful matter,” while Lady Sefton contradicted her in a low, icy undervoice. The Duke was red with insult, and he did not look pleased as he noticed intruders into the little space around the angry ladies.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Alec said. This entirely failed to interrupt anything; he was ignored except by his father, who swelled visibly. Alec made himself raise his voice and took a step closer to the warring women. “Excuse me, Lady Sefton, Your Grace, Father? I think my friend may be able to help.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Sefton said, turning.
She was about to say, Who are you and what are you doing here?, he was sure. He hurried on. “Her Grace the Duchess of Ilvar, Mr. Gerald Vane. Jerry has something important to say, madam.” He bowed as he spoke.
The Duchess said, through stiff lips, “What could this person possibly have to say to me?”
“It’s about this, Your Grace,” Jerry said, and pulled a glittering handful of light, red and white, from his pocket.
The Duke’s breath caught. Lady Sefton said, “Ha!”
The Duchess’s eyes widened, and she snatched at the jewels he held. “My bracelet! Where did you find this? How do you have it? Explain yourself at once!”
Jerry bowed. “Yes, ma’am. I picked this up in the gentlemen’s hat-room.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?” the Duke said, menacingly.
“I see,” Lady Sefton said, with immense satisfaction. “I suppose you dropped it, ma’am, and it was kicked by an unwary foot. I must regret that you chose to assign blame to unknown evildoers or my staff rather than your inattention. I do feel, if you will attend a simple evening event with jewels fit for a ballroom, it must be your responsibility to care for them.”
The Duchess reddened. She hated to be proved wrong, always had, would never forgive anyone who embarrassed her, and Alec could have sworn aloud. If Jerry had only told him what he’d meant to do—
But Jerry was speaking. “I’m extremely sorry to contradict you, Lady Sefton, but I’m afraid you’re not in possession of all the facts. The clasp has been cut.”
“What?” The Duke held out an imperative hand for the jewel.
“Nonsense,” snapped Lady Sefton. “Let me see at once.”
The Duchess handed the bracelet to the Duke with a triumphant glare. He was longsighted, like Alec, and wasn’t wearing spectacles; he held it at arm’s length and squinted.
Lady Sefton plucked the bracelet from his outstretched hand and gave it a cursory look. “Nonsense. I can see evidence of no such thing. It has simply snapped.”
“I beg your pardon,” Jerry said diffidently, “but I don’t think it can have snapped. I looked at it when I picked it up. The clasp is cleanly cut; the gold chain that ought to have secured it is broken as well, with no partially open link. I don’t see how that could have happened without a violent pull that the Duchess would have noticed.”
“Naturally I should,” the Duchess agreed. “Quite right.”
“Are you suggesting, Mr., er, Vane, that someone cut the clasp deliberately?” Lady Sefton demanded. “Do you imply a robbery took place? And if so, perhaps you would explain why they did not, in fact, steal this most valuable item?”
The Duchess drew herself up, inhaling sharply. Jerry replied to Lady Sefton with entire calm. “I do think your ladyship’s hospitality may have been abused, yes. As to why someone left the bracelet behind, I don’t know, but it was underneath an open window in the hat-room. Perhaps it was dropped in the course of escape? If you have a detective present, perhaps he ought to look, and enquire if anyone else has lost a jewel. That’s all I can suggest.”
Lady Sefton’s eyes narrowed. “You might have said this at once, sir.”
Jerry’s brows angled steeply in a silent expression of astonishment, but he bowed. “I beg your pardon. I do apologise I wasn’t more immediately persuasive.”
Lady Sefton opened her mouth at that, closed it, and swept away in silence. The Duchess gave a single nod of intense satisfaction. “Really, what is the world coming to? The insolence of accusing me of carelessness, with a thief loose on the premises.”
“Quite, my dear.” The Duke gave Jerry a very slight inclination of the head. “Your assistance is appreciated, Mr.—” He waved a hand.
“Vane,” Jerry said with the self-deprecating smile he’d used before. “I’m proud to have been of any small service to Her Grace.”
The Duke took that as his due. “The Cirencester family?”
“A very distant offshoot, sir.”
“Very well.” The Duke gave them both a nod of acknowledgement and dismissal, took his lady’s arm, and led her away.
Alec let out a long, shallow breath. Jerry took his elbow. “That was more excitement than one expects a musical soirée to offer. I fear I’ve landed myself in our hostess’s bad books, though. Shall we go? Nightcap?”
They strolled out. Alec felt a nervous fizz along his spine, as though he were about to hear a cry of “Stop, thief!”, but they sauntered down the stairs without incident, stopping to exchange goodbyes with a couple of Alec’s acquaintances, and strolled casually away, Jerry chatting idly about the merits of the string quartet. He led the way to a nearby public house—apparently they were indeed having a drink—and took a table.
Alec didn’t dare say a thing until he had a glass in his hand. He sipped rather than downing the lot, against all instincts, and said, “Well.”
“Well, indeed.” The room was noisy enough that Jerry had to lean forward a little; they wouldn’t be heard. “Very satisfactory, I thought.”
“I don’t have the faintest idea what happened. Except that my father scarcely looked at me.”
“Oh, tut,” Jerry said. “What happened materially was that I cut the bracelet off her wrist. Easy in a crush with a small cutter, especially when women
wear them over gloves. More importantly, you and I helped the Duchess put one over on Lady Sefton. They loathe one another. Her Grace had the chance to upbraid Lady Sefton for having a house riddled with thieves, and she will enjoy that even more when the other women start shrieking.”
“Other women?” Alec said faintly.
“Temp was working too, did you not spot him? We’ll make a profit on the night. In addition to which, I got Her Grace out of a rather tight hole.”
“What hole?”
Jerry’s eyes were sparkling like the Duchess’s jewels. “The bracelet was glass. I’ll swear to it.”
“No!”
“I think so. Very good glass, must have cost a few bob to make, but nevertheless, glass. And she would not have wanted that made public, after her loud outrage at losing the thing; she’d have looked ludicrous. I wonder whether she’s hoarding the real things, or selling them.”
“Hoarding,” Alec said with certainty. “She insisted on having all Mother’s jewellery instead of letting it go to Cara and Annabel. She wouldn’t even give them a few pieces as mementoes, when Father was larding her with her own. Cara used to call her the Dragon, because she slept on her heap of treasure.”
Jerry nodded, apparently unsurprised. “Jewel mania. Or greed, perhaps, but jewel mania arises with remarkable ease. Some people will do anything to possess a glittering rock, or a bit of solidified oyster mucus. I’ve seen diamond merchants weep over stones, and thieves run their head into nooses in the lust to possess. Never stand between Templeton and an opal: he becomes emotional.”
“Do you have jewel mania?” Alec asked curiously. “Is that why you do it?”
“Good Lord, no. Or, at least, I haven’t succumbed yet, but I am not prone to obsession. I don’t set my heart on things.”
“Really? Never?”
Jerry smiled, rather sardonically. “I like to control my situation. One can’t do that if one is consumed by the lust to possess a bag of emeralds, or another man’s wife. If you can’t walk away, you’re in trouble.”
“But you can’t walk away from everything.”
